Chapter Text
Charles finally found Monty in the garden. He was sitting on one of the benches, gazing out at nothing in particular, arm stretched out on the back of the bench. Charles sat down next to him. Monty didn't look at him or otherwise acknowledge his presence.
It had seemed, for the delirious few moments after they'd learned of the troops being moved to Sardinia, that everything would be all right again -- that all the secrets and tensions that had been exposed on their team were of no import next to the news of Mincemeat's success. And, Charles thought, on the greater scale of the war that was of course true, although they were still waiting on the larger question of the Sicilian invasion.
But on the smaller scale of himself, and Monty, and the others -- nothing had been resolved, not really. From the beginning, Charles had looked up to Monty and his charisma. The way he had seized on Charles’s plan and declared it brilliant, championing it even when Charles himself had been hopeless in front of Bevan, had mattered – still mattered – a great deal to Charles. Then Monty had done, well, everything he had done. But Charles wanted, so very much, for them to be able to find their way back to something like what they had had before.
He knew that Monty must also feel ambivalent about everything that had happened. That was no doubt why Monty was here, where Charles was unlikely to be looking for him, instead of in the basement with the others. And yet Charles knew they would have to resolve their issues if they ever wanted to move forward. Fortunately, it was late in the day, and bees were unlikely to be out, which Monty had probably not taken into account.
Both of them were silent for quite a while. Charles was wondering whether he should start the conversation when Monty said, still without looking at him, "I can't believe you thought I was a double agent, Charles."
Charles breathed out. That was, he supposed, as good a place to start as anywhere else. "Which part of it isn't believable, Monty? The part where you were acting suspiciously in all the ways that a double agent would -- or the way that you were lying to all of us about taking documents out of the office -- "
Monty did turn to face him, then, and Charles felt his gaze on him, the disconcerting intensity of it, as he always did. "I didn't lie --"
"Well, you certainly weren't honest about it," Charles snapped. "Don't try to spin this as if it were a problem with us, Monty."
"Oh, it's an us thing now, is it? All of you against me?"
"Yes!" Charles said shortly, and saw Monty deflate. Clearly he'd expected Charles to apologize, to back down, to deny that they were all against him. And before the events of the last couple of days, Charles would have done exactly that. "You were terrible to Jean too, more than anyone else. And Hester was worried about you too. When you've turned your entire team against you, and they all think you might be a double agent, you might consider whether maybe the problem is on your side!"
"Maybe," Monty said. "Or maybe --"
"Don't," Charles said. "If I'd been acting half as suspiciously as you had, you -- and Hester, too, for that matter -- would have talked to Bevan about me already, and you know it, Monty." Monty looked down. Charles exhaled. "I didn't want to believe it. I told Jean I trusted you."
"But you didn't," said Monty flatly.
"You made it very hard to, Monty," Charles said quietly. "And, you know, you did risk the mission."
"I'm sure Ivor didn't tell anyone anything, Charles. He's my brother. I know him. He wouldn't."
"You didn't even know he was a spy!" Charles expostulated. "Maybe you're right -- he's your brother, not mine -- but it's not a risk you're supposed to take! Even just the basic idea, even if you didn't have details -- if the Germans had got hold of it and realized what it meant -- and you know as well as I do that if the Soviets knew, the Germans might have found out as well."
Monty shoved his hands in his pockets. "I suppose," he said, not meeting Charles' eyes. "But it went off all right, in the end."
"Yes, it's as you say, you're not going to get in trouble for it with the government. I imagine you'll get a medal for it instead. That's all true. But we -- " Charles didn't quite know how to end that sentence. That we, your team, feel hurt now. That we don't know what to do about you now, or vice versa, or where we stand in relation to one another.
Instead he said something else. "And that lolloping sidekick business. That hurt, Monty. That that's what you think of me. That you think I'm just useful for -- what? -- blind abject adoration? That I'm just someone to be made fun of?"
Monty did look a little chastened, for once. "No -- Charles -- that was just -- that was a mistake, all right? I don't think that of you, at all. You're a genius, Charlie, I --"
"Don't call me that," Charles snapped.
"Right... so, what's the issue with that, then?" Monty said, now looking more confused than anything else. "You never used to mind when I called you that, and now suddenly --"
"Because 'when you need a moron to tackle a task, you call him a genius -- and he'll do what you ask of him.'"
Monty went still. "Oh."
"Yes."
Monty looked at Charles, put a hand on his shoulder. Charles tried not to show how much that was affecting him. "But that's completely different, Charlie. The most important point being, you're not a moron! You know that perfectly well! So that doesn't apply to you!"
"No, that's not the point. How do I know," Charles said quietly, "that you're not always just manipulating me to make me do what you want me to do, as you were manipulating Haselden? Or have you always just been manipulating me? I know, Monty," Charles said, unable now to stop the flow of words, "I know that you have been kind to me, more than I deserve, really. You showed Operation Mincemeat to Colonel Bevan -- and always gave me full credit for it -- " Monty drew his brows together, as if he were about to interject something, but did not -- "and I do know I have needed a lot of reassurance, these past months, and don't think I'm not grateful for all that. But I thought it was more than steering a tool you were using. I thought we were a team. I thought you and I were friends," he said, his voice cracking despite himself.
Charles became abruptly aware that somehow, without his having noticed it, they had shifted position so that they were sitting very close together, close enough that their shoulders were almost brushing. Something in the back of his head understood this was dangerous, and he lowered his head so that he couldn't see Monty's eyes. "But regardless, I care for you anyway, Monty, I care for you very much, I've come to see that, but I just -- I can't be just one of the people who don't matter to you, that you're manipulating, I --"
Monty set a finger under his chin and tilted his face back up. "Oh Charles, you do worry too much," Monty said softly, and kissed him.
And just for a moment Charles gave into the temptation to let himself get lost in the feeling of Monty's lips on his, to let himself believe that it was real, that Monty wanted him, cared for him -- and that was a terrible mistake, because it hurt all the more when he had to pull away.
"Monty," he whispered, feeling as if his heart were breaking. So that was the way it worked, to get someone to do what you asked. First call him a genius, then kiss him. Monty probably had a whole list somewhere.
The hell of it was, none of it had been necessary. Charles would have done whatever Monty wanted, from the beginning, without any of that. "I can't. I can't do this if you're just trying to manipulate me again, you don't mean it --"
"Charles --"
Charles couldn't look at him, couldn't think about anything except that he had to get away from how much it hurt. He fled, ignoring Monty calling after him.
"Charles! Charlie!"
*
Jean was working with Hester on the Mincemeat final paperwork -- there was more of it than she thought really ought to be possible -- when she saw Charles enter the basement, his face pale and set in a way she hadn't quite seen before, even when he'd been at his most worried and overwrought during the operation. "Is everything all right?" Jean asked softly, but Charles didn't answer her. He just shook his head and sat down, pulling a report in front of him.
Monty came in a while later, carrying a thick folder of papers under his arm. He looked the same as ever. "Right, all of you. Business as usual, I'm afraid. Johnny intercepted me in the corridor and has been talking at me for the last half hour, and I have direct orders now to brief all of you before he gets here in a few minutes." Charles met Monty's eyes for a brief second, and then looked away.
Looking at each of them, Monty continued, "No rest for the wicked, as they say -- we've got to finish the reports and paperwork on Mincemeat, as you know, but he also wants us to help out with Barclay in this last push to the Sicily invasion." Operation Barclay, Jean knew, was the larger operation of which Operation Mincemeat had been an essential part, diverting Hitler's resources everywhere but Sicily. Monty grimaced. "There's quite a lot of work there. No wonder Johnny wants us, it sounds rather like they have enough to do that they'll take anyone they can get. Though of course we are a superior team, they'll be lucky to have us." He smiled at them.
Now that Jean wasn't trying to get any information out of him, she didn't feel like acting quite as friendly as she had been, when they'd gone out for drinks and dinner. Monty had, she was pretty sure, entirely forgotten during that time that he'd told her to leave the team, that she was only good for making the tea. She wasn't unhappy about that -- she'd rather be on the team than not, and she knew she'd also rather Monty see her as someone who could contribute than as a silly little woman -- but it didn't mean she had to be happy about him sweeping it all under the rug. Of course, she also didn't want to antagonize him, and so she returned his smile, but it was half-hearted at best.
Hester nodded curtly without her expression changing. Charles didn't look at Monty at all.
Monty's smile faltered. He cleared his throat. "Johnny has some tight deadlines on this, for obvious reasons. Hester, I believe he'll brief you separately, as I know you have other responsibilities, but it sounds like he's going to keep you with us at least part-time to help us with the logistics." He set down the folder on the table with a decisive thump. "Charles and Jean, I'm going to have to depend on the two of you to read through quite a lot of detailed information very quickly."
Jean murmured assent, getting excited despite herself; she was going to get to do interesting work again. Charles said quietly, "Of course, I'd be glad to," still without looking at Monty. He didn't sound glad in the slightest. "I'll get right on that after I finish this report, sir."
Jean looked at Charles in surprise; she'd never heard Charles call Monty sir before. His head was bent and she couldn't see Charles' face, but she could see Monty's very clearly, and the look of desolation she caught on it made her catch her breath. Hester, she saw, was also looking between Monty and Charles, her eyes narrowed.
But in another second, Monty had himself once more under control. "Thank you, Jean, Charles," Monty said breezily, with his usual jovial expression sealing over whatever else he might have been feeling, so completely that Jean thought she might have imagined it, if not for Hester's questioning look.